What’s a “trophy” fish, really?
Naturally, all of us anglers have been conditioned over the years to believe that bigger is better. And there’s certainly something to that.
Catch a 30-inch wild brown trout on the South Fork of the Snake River in Idaho, for example, and the data from shocking surveys collected over many years says that’s beyond a one-in-a-million fish. That’s like winning the lottery. Simply, supremely, fantastic.
I’ve never caught a “record” fish in my life. But I’ve caught a ton of whoppers—40-plus-pound redfish, 60-pound roosterfish, 120-pound-plus tarpon, 10-pound brown trout, and a bunch of other fish that we just estimated in inches rather than pounds because it seemed more appropriate.
And I’d be totally lying to you if I said the big fish didn’t really flip my switch.
But in the trout world, sometimes big fish, for better or worse, have become participation trophies. You go on a guide trip, you needn’t know how to cast, nor match a hatch…you just go, watch a bobber and set the hook when the guide yells “strike,” and sometimes… not always… but sometimes, you find something unnaturally big on the other end of the line.
That’s fine… success breeds interest, and if somebody lands a 20-inch rainbow that changes their life and leads them to actually care about things like fly fishing, clean rivers and the trout that swim in them, well, so much the better.
About more than just the fish
Still, I must say that the more I fish, and the more I experience, it’s the where, and equally important, the how that really gets me going.
My true “trophies” come in all shapes and sizes these days.
It’s the native Colorado River cutthroat trout that I hiked above tree line to find in a pristine mountain lake. Or the native brook trout in a Pennsylvania stream. Or for that matter, a chunky Bahamian bonefish I saw cruising along a flat and was able to toss a Crazy Charlie in its glide path, then watch it tilt up and eat it.
You see… I think the quest to catch “trophy” fish is woefully misguided.
It isn’t, at the end of the day, about the angler. It isn’t about the cast the angler makes, the fly thy tie on nor even how they might fight and land the fish.
That’s all worthy stuff, that can and should be rightfully celebrated.
But, if we’re really being honest, the “trophy” was earned by the fish themselves, and more importantly, the fishery in which they live. True trophies should be celebrated as reflections on the ecosystems where the fish thrive, more than the fish themselves.
That’s exactly why any lucky duck can connect to a trophy fish by being in the right place at the right time, having a semi-decent cast, Mother Nature smiling upon them and a hungry fish on the other side.
That, in and of itself, is a triumph. For the angler? Yeah, sure. But also for the ecosystem.
As a once-competitive athlete who chased trophies like they were going out of style, I can tell you a few things that have forever changed the way I feel about fly fishing, and why I love fly fishing so much:
- The true “trophy” is whatever you want it to be. Your first fish. Your first fish on a fly you tied yourself. A native species of any size. You get to set the goals, and there are many ways to win the game.
- Nobody is really keeping score. You win exactly where and when you want to win.
It’s really, at the end of the day, about the place, the fish and your ability to sync up with nature. When Mother Nature smiles, she smiles. But if you understand and appreciate this phenomenon, you “win” no matter what happens.
